


My Hand Is Alive

by ClydeThistles



Category: Ripper Street
Genre: F/F, First Time, Office Sex, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:00:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25158910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClydeThistles/pseuds/ClydeThistles
Summary: Doctor Frayn has a crush on Susan Hart. Minor references to plot events from episodes 4&7 of season 3. Title is from Anne Sexton's poem 'The Touch'. Warning: mentions strangulation and injury detail.
Relationships: Susan Hart/Amelia Frayn
Comments: 3
Kudos: 21





	My Hand Is Alive

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tissaias_piglet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tissaias_piglet/gifts).



Doctor Amelia Frayn is no stranger to Ms Hart’s home, she has been here on numerous occasions to discuss business matters and, more recently, to care for Alice. She has never been here this late though, the downstairs floor in darkness apart from the oil lamp Charity holds as she ushers her in from the front door. The girl offers to take Amelia’s hat and coat, but the doctor is already halfway across the hall, striding towards the elegant staircase, her bag firmly in her hand.

“Where is she? Take me to her, please.”

“She’s in her office, up here.”

Amelia holds out an arm to stop Charity, “I know the way. Here, give me the lamp and get to your bed. You’ll have an early start tomorrow I’m sure.”

“Thank you, ma’am. You will… you will look after her? Ms Hart?”

“I give you my word.”

She curtseys and hurries away, leaving Amelia to ascend the stairs and cross the corridor to Ms Hart’s office, lamp held high to light her way. Her knock at the door goes unanswered so she pushes it open and sees her benefactor slumped in the chair behind her desk, her eyes shut. Amelia rushes forward, hurrying to her side and calling her name,

“Ms Hart? Susan?”

The woman groans and stirs, her eyes fluttering open. Amelia sighs in relief and helps her sit up. When she speaks, her voice is hoarse, rasping in her swollen voice-box,

“Doctor Frayn! Forgive me, I must have drifted off. It has been quite a day.”

“That’s why I’m here, I am sent for to examine your neck.”

Susan’s face clouds at the memory of being throttled this afternoon but she clears it with a brisk smile, “That’s kind of you but there’s no need, I am perfectly well.”

Amelia hitches her skirts and kneels to bring herself eye to eye with Susan in the chair,

“You will let me be the judge of that. Now, if I may?”

She hovers her fingers over the topmost fastening of Susan’s bodice, the silk collar and lacy neckpiece obstructing her view of the woman’s throat. She nods her consent and Amelia gently unclasps the hook and bar, scoops the lace to one side and draws the collar apart. She manages not to wince, her professional conduct supressing her horror, but it cannot quite contain her rage and her eyebrows draw together. The woman’s neck is encircled with bruises, fingertips and thumbprints clearly outlined, the skin red and tender around the purple blotchy marks. With careful touches, she feels for damaged tissue, up under her jaw, down the tendons of her neck, across the delicate span of her collarbones, into the notch that sits above them where her pulse makes the skin quiver. Susan studies her face as she works, and Amelia can feel her gaze burning her, but she makes herself focus on the task at hand.

For the most part, she has been successful in ignoring the effect the woman has on her. Amelia concentrates on their shared purpose and drive, the facts and figures that make up the bulk of their interactions. In this way, she keeps her mind from lingering over Susan’s piercing blue eyes and the dimples that appear when she smiles, or the way she smells of neroli and honeysuckle. Every now and then though, her rational brain is not quick enough, and her senses are ravaged leaving her breathless. The first time had been just after the train wreck. She and Susan had attended the crash site and in a show of comfort, of shared sorrow, the older woman had placed her hand on Amelia’s waist. Nothing improper or insinuating whatsoever in the gesture, Susan stood arm’s length from her, fingers resting lightly against the stiffness of her corset. But it had made Amelia’s breath hitch and she’d had to stare hard at the ground which thankfully had been taken for grief rather than shameful arousal. And then there was the time Susan had climbed onto the bed and taken Alice in her arms, cradling her against her breasts, stroking her hair and kissing her forehead to soothe the terrors. And Amelia, God forgive her, had been jealous. Jealous of a frightened girl who was under her care as a patient. Pulling herself away from such thoughts, she clears her throat,

“I cannot feel any tissue damage and your larynx is only swollen, not crushed. You will be sore for some time though and I would avoid speaking as far as it is possible.” She reaches into her bag, pulling out some little glass bottles with cork stoppers, “I shall make you a tincture, to ease the pain and reduce the swelling. And some witch hazel for the bruising. A cold compress too.”

She stands, fetching a cloth and the porcelain bowl and ewer on the washstand in the adjoining bathroom. Susan tries to stand, to protest but Amelia hushes her firmly,

“Sit, Ms Hart. I will not allow you to wave my concerns away with your usual competent self-sufficiency. You are my patient and I gave my word you would be cared for.”

Susan’s eyes soften and she smiles, laying her hand on Amelia’s forearm in gratitude. The doctor kneels once more and prepares her medicines, pressing the cool damp linen against Susan’s skin. The cloth drips a little onto the silk of her gown and, without thinking, Amelia unclasps more of the bodice to pull it further apart and protect the expensive fabric. It is only when her fingers brush across the warm flesh of Susan’s décolletage and the embroidered cotton of her chemise, just peeking out from the top of her corset, that Amelia realises what she has done. She feels her cheeks flush and she withdraws her hands,

“Forgive me! Your dress, the water, I…”

She shuts her mouth to stop the incoherent rush of words and blushes furiously, shame and dismay filling her. Susan smiles, kindly but also with faint amusement, clasping her hands in her own to still their anxious fidgeting,

“Calm yourself, Doctor Frayn. It takes a great deal more to offend me I can assure you. Lest you forget, it is not so long ago I was a cathouse madam. And you, my dear, are innocent as a virgin compared with what I had cause to see there.”

If this speech was meant to calm Amelia it fails miserably as Susan’s fingers round her wrists can surely feel her hammering pulse and the talk of cathouses and virgins had made her throat go bone dry. Using the last of her self-will to compose herself, she reaches for the witch hazel and applies it to the bruises, dabbing lightly and massaging where the skin is not too tender for such pressure. She can feel Susan’s heartbeat beneath her palm and thinks she feels it picking up pace, but scolds herself, it is her mind playing tricks on her. To distract herself, she studies the fabric of the gown. The luxurious red and gold silk decorated with black lace, the ruffles and pleats, the snug cuffs fastened with jet black buttons. She has not seen this one before and she likes it. It does not pick out Susan’s eyes as much as the emerald and turquoise gowns she has favoured recently but it does make her look warmer, less glacial. Amelia had occasionally glimpsed her when she was still a madam and she misses that Susan. There was something softer about her then. No, soft was not the right word, she had always been fierce and strong, even then. But the gentle waves of her golden hair rather than its current tight curls, the fuchsias, amethysts, and royal blues of the gowns she used to wear – these had made her luscious, invitingly alluring. She is still beautiful now but there is an unyielding, clean-cut, coolness to her beauty. Like a statue of white marble, cold to the touch, perfectly sculpted but nothing alive in it.

Had Amelia known how close she is to divining the wretched lonely thoughts in Susan’s mind she may have decided there and then to do something about it. Instead, she finishes her treatment, collects her medicines, and stands to bid Susan goodnight. Mr Capshaw appears as she gathers her coat and hat. He apologises,

“Forgive me, Ms Hart. I did not know you had company. Word has reached me; Inspector Reid makes his way to us once again.”

Susan’s eyes flutter with regret but she squares her shoulders. Taking Amelia’s hand in her own and brushing the knuckles with her thumb she urges her,

“Go now, Doctor Frayn. I would not have you caught up in this. Thank you for your care, I am quite restored by your attentions. May I call on you tomorrow?”

“Of course, Ms Hart, you need not ask. You have further business tonight it would seem so I shall take my leave. Goodnight, Ms Hart, Mr Capshaw.”

She leaves, casting a curious glance back but her abdomen is aching with supressed desire and her cheeks still smarting from their earlier blushes, so she is glad to escape. In an hour or two she will be summoned here once again, Inspector Reid and Mr Capshaw lying bloody on the oriental rug and Ms Hart red-eyed with crying. But for now, Amelia lets the cool night air calm her. The bustle of Whitechapel, unsleeping even at this hour, distracting her from her wayward desires.

* * * *

Susan nods to the nursing sister on the ward, making her way to Doctor Frayn’s office. They had parted on ill-terms earlier today, Doctor Frayn and her mentor leaving angry and disappointed when she had refused to allow abortions at the clinic. Now, with reflection and the memory of Amelia’s dark eyes burning with conviction, Susan has reconsidered. The sting of her humiliation being excluded from the gentlemen’s club today only reinforced her disgust with the way things are. And so, with fire in her belly and ice in her heart, she has come to spit in the face of the law. Which, as Amelia had so succinctly put it earlier, is an ass. Susan smirks at the recollection, something deliciously vulgar about the usually decorous young woman descending into profanity. She knocks on the door and enters when brusquely ordered to do so. Amelia stands abruptly,

“Ms Hart! Forgive me, I did not realise it was you.”

She has been crying, her eyes red and her hand trembling as it holds up a cigarette for her to draw on. There are files on her desk and Susan recognises them as the Dutch surgeon’s paperwork.

“Are you quite well? You look vexed.”

“I _am_ vexed, Ms Hart! I am powerless to help these women and can only pick up the pieces after they have been broken, irreparably broken. And just when I thought there was some hope, I find my mentor, a man whom I looked up to, is in fact sterilising women. And as if that is not enough, you too are against me. I believe I could weather any storm Ms Hart, any vexation but that. I cannot bear to be at odds with you!”

She stops to catch her breath and takes a shaky drag on the cigarette, exhaling slowly to calm herself. Susan replies,

“Then it is fortunate my thinking has changed, has met your own. I shall match your courage, Doctor Frayn. I will fund this endeavour.”

Amelia stops dead in her tracks, her jaw slacking in shock,

“You have taken the wind from my sails! I was ready to- “

Susan steps towards her, takes her hand and clasps it between her own two, “I think it best if we agree not to discuss what may have been said next in the heat of debate.”

She smiles warmly and Amelia returns it self-deprecatingly, her eyes flicking downwards. Susan cups her chin to tilt her eyes back up and murmurs,

“I cannot bear it when we are at odds either. You have come to mean a great deal to me, I should be sorry to lose you.”

Amelia’s dark eyes burn with feeling and her voice is thick with fervour, “Then I am yours, Ms Susan. Yours.”

Susan argues she should not encourage this infatuation, that she cannot return it to the same degree. But it has been so long since she was touched, and Amelia’s fingers are warm against her flesh, flesh that has come to feel like stone. And the clean scent of her skin, her chestnut curls, her wide eyes and serious mouth, her long, deft fingers with short-trimmed nails. Despite her mental protestations to the contrary, Susan can feel herself growing wet for the woman, her arousal stirring for the first time in months. And so, she creeps her hands up her arm, drawing her closer, pulling her to lean down so that she may press their lips together.

It is brief and dry, their lips only pressing lightly together for a moment before Susan withdraws to allow Amelia the chance to refuse her. The younger woman is standing very still, a frown creasing her eyebrows, her lips parted as she tries to catch her breath. She wavers, leaning in and then pulling back again, and Susan takes pity on her. She cups her face and again kisses her, gentle brushing touches, her tongue flicking her top lip, curling under it. She is careful and patient but insistent all the same and at last, Amelia submits and returns her kiss hungrily. She pulls Susan into an embrace, a hand pressed against the small of her back and another at the nape of her neck. Their kisses increase in fervour, growing wet and open-mouthed. Susan tugs on her bottom lip with her teeth and licks into her mouth, groaning at the heat of her, at the fragrant tobacco still in her mouth. Amelia pulls back and presses her hand over Susan’s mouth to quiet her, the ward busy beyond the closed door.

Something darkens in Amelia’s eyes and she pushes Susan backwards towards the filing cabinet, still holding her mouth, not tight enough to smother her but hard enough to make her breath ragged. She lowers her hand and cups Susan’s face to tilt her face up and kiss her once more, her other hand plucking at her skirts and petticoats. Susan helps her and at last she is up underneath the layers of fabric, her fingers pulling aside the garter belt to reach her drawers. Amelia’s breath hitches when she finds the open crotch seam, she knows some women still favour this design, but she had not imagined Susan to be one of them. Easing the fabric aside she cups her, soft curls and wet folds pressing against her palm. Susan arches her hips into her touch, her eyes shutting in pleasure, her hands lifting to grip Amelia’s shoulders so hard she fears she will bruise her. 

Amelia’s touches are clumsy at first, effective but unpractised, her fingers stroking up through Susan’s folds and rubbing side-to-side when they find her pearl up at the top. Susan grinds against her fingers, already wet and aching for more. She whispers huskily against the shell of her ear,

“Inside me.”

Amelia shudders at her voice in her ear, her scalp tingling and the pit of her stomach dropping. She obeys and slips a finger into her, feeling the slick inner muscles twitch in response to her touch. With a little pressure and a twist of her wrist she gets three fingers inside, stroking and beckoning, curling her fingertips against Susan’s quivering walls. It is rushed, desperate, hard and fast but it is just what Susan needs. She meets Amelia’s thrusting hand with her hips, rocking against her and clutching at her neck and shoulders to anchor herself, giving herself more leverage to have the woman’s fingers reach even deeper inside her. They muffle their sighs and moans against each other’s hair, anxiously listening out for sounds from the ward that may indicate they have been discovered. Susan is trembling so violently, the filing case is vibrating imperceptibly, and she curses herself inwardly. It is not as though she is some blushing schoolgirl. Amelia feels her shaking and the thought that Susan has not been touched in some time makes her belly burn, driving her hand even harder between her legs, her rhythm turning erratic. It is over quickly, Amelia burying her face in the curve between Susan’s neck and shoulder, panting against the turquoise brocade that scratches her cheek. Susan’s head falls back against the cabinet and she has to bite on her own knuckles not to cry out as she peaks, her thighs trembling and her abdomen clenching violently, gripping tightly onto Amelia’s fingers, coating them in slick excitement which trickles down to her wrist.

They stay still for a long moment, their minds regaining control of their bodies, beginning to process the enormity of what they have just done. Amelia lifts her head from Susan’s shoulder and there is fear in her eyes, fear that her purpose has been served and they will now carry on as though this never happened. She withdraws from Susan, snaking out from under the skirts which have been hitched up round Susan’s thighs and now fall back in place. She rests her forehead against Susan’s and strokes her jaw, Susan allows it, still breathing deeply trying to calm her racing heartbeat. Amelia finds the courage to voice her question,

“May I come to you tonight?”

Susan laughs a little, sighing and pulling at Amelia’s lower lip with her thumb, purring, “Oh my dear, I must insist upon it.”

Amelia smiles in surprised delight, suddenly shy, and Susan traces her thumb along the inner edge of her lip, slips it into her mouth and hums in approval when Amelia reaches forward to trap it gently between her teeth. She presses a final kiss to her swollen lips and then pushes her away, tidying her skirts and smoothing her hair. Then, she opens the door and glides through it, utterly composed, turning back to smirk,

“Until tonight, Doctor Frayn.”

* * * *

When Amelia steps into Susan’s office later that night she is immediately ensnared by the older woman’s hands, pushing her against the door and pulling at the cravat round her neck, Susan pressing hot kisses to her throat, nipping at the skin possessively.

“Oh, Ms Susan! Mmhhh!”

She cannot help the noises coming from her mouth and Susan seems to enjoy them, humming when Amelia yelps at a particularly vicious nip. She soothes it with her tongue and then steps away, pulling Amelia by the hand to follow her to the desk at the far end of the room. Susan roughly spins the woman to stand in front of her, the desk pressing against the back of her thighs.

“Get up.” Susan orders, and Amelia lifts herself to sit on the desk, her legs dangling. “Hold these.” Susan bunches her sensible grey skirts up as she draws her thighs further apart and kneels between them. She tugs on her hips a little to bring her further forward, so she is balanced right on the edge of the desk. Glides her hands up her calves, round her knees and down her thighs, her fingers pausing to undo the garter clips and roll her stockings down off her feet. Continuing their journey upwards, her hands find the waistband of her drawers, tucked modestly under her corset, and tease it down past her hips. Amelia has to lift her bottom off the desk to allow Susan to slip her drawers past her cheeks and the movement puts her tantalisingly close to the woman’s mouth. At last given clear access to between Amelia’s legs, Susan settles herself and bows her head to her folds. Her nose nuzzles at the apex, inhaling deeply and moaning at the scent of the woman, already wet.

Amelia gives a sharp intake of breath when Susan’s tongue licks across her. She has heard of such acts, even read about them once in a smutty novel she had furtively borrowed from a fellow student. But she has never experienced it or even imagined what it might feel like. The searing hot, slippery, muscular flicks of Susan’s tongue against her is intoxicating and Amelia tilts her head back to moan quietly, biting her lower lip. When Susan’s lips gently fasten round her sensitive nub and begin to suck, she has to grip the edge of the desk to keep from falling off. She looks down her body and sees Susan between her thighs, her arching eyebrows and blue eyes visible above Amelia’s mound, her blonde curls disarrayed and bobbing up and down with the movement of her mouth. Amelia keens low in her throat and brings a hand to clutch Susan’s hair, pulling lightly and urging her closer to her centre. Susan brings her hands up and uses her thumbs to spread Amelia wider, tightening her hold on her nub and sucking hard. It is bordering on painful and Amelia whimpers but there is a delicious, throbbing tension building in her abdomen, and she needs it to release so she pants through the pain, rewarded with intense pleasure rippling through her. Susan groans against her and the reverberations bring Amelia to her peak, finishing with a short, high-pitched cry which turns into a gasp. She collapses back against the desk, feeling Susan’s diary and legal files digging into her shoulder blades.

Just as she begins to drift off, she is pulled up to stand and Susan’s fingers are working at the buttons of her blouse. Amelia would not have thought it possible after what had just happened, but she feels fresh desire gripping her and she lifts her hands to Susan’s bodice, undoing the clasps eagerly. As they work, their eyes meet and there is a shift in the air, they slow their movements, no longer impatient to be bare but instead delighting in the slow reveal of each other. Susan is gentle as she pulls the tails of Amelia’s blouse from her skirt and slips it off her shoulders. Amelia turns Susan to unlace her corset at the back, pulling the strings slowly, enjoying the pebbling on the woman’s skin when her fingers brush against her. They laugh over the hassle of skirts and endless petticoats, stepping out of layers and trying not to trip over the scattered garments. Amelia kneel to unlace Susan’s heeled boots and roll her black stockings down, kissing her ankles as she removes the silky, diaphanous fabric from her feet. At last, they are stood in only their chemises and they move to stand in one another’s arms, stroking the bare skin usually so well hidden. Shoulder blades, collarbones, supple forearms and delicate wrists, each individual vertebra up their necks like a string of pearls. They unpin their chignons and long blonde and chestnut curls tumble free, falling over their shoulders.

Susan kisses Amelia, slowly, languidly, sliding her tongue into her mouth and letting Amelia taste herself from earlier. She moves her mouth downwards and sucks on a nipple through the thin cotton of her chemise, her pale pink lipstick staining the fabric. Unlacing the neck of the chemise she reaches in and draws her breast out, curling her tongue round the rosy bud and sucking, massaging with her fingers. Amelia pulls her up and guides her to lay on the thick oriental rug in front of the fire. She moves down her body and nips at Susan’s heavy breasts, laving her tongue over the red marks, teasing her with feather light touches, rolling her nipples between thumb and forefinger. She lifts the chemise from its hem, pulling it up over her head and discarding it. Susan is now completely bare beneath her and the worshipful look in Amelia’s eyes makes Susan smile. It has been too long since she was desired, since anyone told her she looked beautiful. And now, with her clever dark eyes and her sweet, careful fingers, Amelia is fashioning her into a masterpiece, moulding her into an exquisite form. She reaches her hands up round Amelia’s back to pull her chemise up and away, ghosting her hands over her small breasts and slim hips. The younger woman slides a thigh in between Susan’s and begins to rock against her as she peppers her neck with kisses. Susan arches her hips and rakes her hands through the woman’s hair, nails grazing her scalp.

She rolls them so she is lying on top of Amelia, her thighs still clamped round hers and shifts herself slightly so she can prop up on an elbow and reach down to stroke her centre. Her fingers pause at her entrance and she murmurs,

“Do you like it inside?”

Amelia hesitates and Susan makes to pull her hand away but the brunette reaches between them and stills her hand, urging her closer again. Susan smiles,

“I’ll be gentle.”

And she is. Circling Amelia’s nub until she is all hot and liquid and only then delicately easing a single finger inside. Amelia gasps, Susan is _inside_ her, she can feel the callouses on her finger from the way she holds her pens. As Susan explores her, Amelia bights back a moan and Susan tuts,

“No no darling, I want to hear you.”

She presses harder and Amelia mewls, Susan nodding in satisfaction,

“That’s right my sweet, let me hear you.”

They rock against one another, Susan grinding herself on Amelia’s thigh, her fingers caressing and twisting inside her, her thumb fondling her nub. Amelia clutches at Susan, trembling and gasping, her eyes wide with desire and affection. Susan kisses her tenderly, making soothing noises and breathing encouragements into her ear,

“Yes, there, like that, oh pet, you’re safe, I’ve got you, yes, oh, Amelia!”

The sound of her name in Susan's mouth makes Amelia finish with a cry and Susan echoes it with a sob, her eyes shut and forehead straining against the younger woman’s. They lie back, sated and sweaty, their skin glowing from the fire and the passion. Amelia nuzzles into Susan’s neck and the older woman wraps her arms round her, pressing a kiss to her hair. They doze off and Susan has to smile when she presses her fingers to her own cheek and feels it warm and soft, rather than cold and numb. Amelia has quickened the life inside her, has brought what was buried to the surface and Susan is so very glad that she has let her.


End file.
